Anderson's Dinosaur Adventure
by SherlockianGirl
Summary: Anderson builds a time machine and accidentally kidnaps Sherlock, John, and Lestrade on the way, stranding all four in the Age of the Dinosaurs. Pure crack!fic.
1. Chapter 1

"Anderson, what the hell is that?"

Lestrade stood at the top of the stairs, loudly tapping his foot to nicely emphasize his impatience with the situation. He continued tapping, that is, until he was knocked over by the dynamic John and Sherlock duo, both of whom had consequently decided to burst in upon the scene at the very same moment.

"Oh, Lestrade, I did not see you there," Sherlock mumbled, stepping lightly over the inspector's prostrate body on the ground. "You really should wear blinking lights or something. That way people cannot possibly ignore your existence…as much."

Lestrade would have liked to tell Sherlock where he could stick his blinking lights.

"We meet again, Anderson," Sherlock continued, sidling up to the sergeant and inspecting his work. "What do we have here?"

"It's a time machine, and I don't want you touching it," Anderson retorted in his whiny, nasal voice and waved a wrench in the direction of the detective. "Now, shoo!"

John's jaw dropped. "A time machine? You mean…"

Anderson rolled his eyes. "Yes. A machine of _time_."

John's eyes grew huge as he whispered, "Fascinating."

Sherlock frowned. "No, it's not."

"How's that?"

"Because I didn't make it."

John folded his arms. "Oh, then it's complete rubbish because the great Sherlock Holmes did not create it."

"Exactly."

"You're unbelievable."

"I know. I can't help it."

"Would you both just shut up?" Anderson growled as he continued to tinker away beneath the machine. "I can't concentrate."

Lestrade had by now peeled himself off the ground and moseyed over to join the group. "Anderson, what the hell is this?"

Anderson reached for a screwdriver. "You already asked that."

"No, he said 'What the hell is _that_', the different operative wording being 'this' at this particular repetition of the inquiry," Sherlock chirped.

"Shut up, Sherlock," Lestrade chirped back.

The young detective ignored him. "The question is, Anderson: why are you building a time machine on the roof of Scotland Yard?"

Anderson rolled himself out from beneath the contraption and glared up at the three observers. "Why? So I can finally get away from you people."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "So you've decided to zap yourself back through time and never return."

"Yes."

"Be my guest then."

As if in response, the time machine suddenly flashed forth a blinding green light, followed by the cliché "vwoorp vwoorp" sound characteristic of at least half a dozen science fiction movies. The gentlemen present did not complain about this, however, on account of finding themselves suddenly dematerialized into miniscule, glowing particles.

They returned to their normal states a minute later, but, consequently, millions of years earlier.

"Oh, God!" John shouted suddenly, skittering backward. "I'm in a tree! I'm in a damn tree!"

"Yes, we know," Anderson, growled irritably from the bough above.

"Get off my branch, Lestraaaaaade," Sherlock whined, shoving the detective inspector toward the tree's trunk. "You're going to break it asunder and kill me."

"Oy! Let go, Sherlock, and stop being such an infant!"

"Get offfff. I can hear it cracking."

"You mean like this?" Lestrade snapped back, bouncing up and down on his seat.

"Stop it, I say! Stop it!"

A distant roar silenced the petty feud.

"What was that?" John yelped from above, his face a perfect picture of his usual consternation.

"I don't…no, it can't be," Anderson breathed, his eyes lighting up. "Could it really…"

A rumble from the nearby bushes revealed a long reptilian tail.

"A dinosaur!" Anderson squeaked, clapping his hands in childlike joy. "A real dinosaur!"

"WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL, ANDERSON," Sherlock yelled from below. "WHAT THE EVERLOVING F-"

"It's going to eat me, isn't it?" John panicked, wrapping his arms and legs even tighter around the tree trunk.

"Really, John," Sherlock consoled. "It would probably just choke on your jumper."

"What is that thing, anyway?" John called down, still willing himself to become one with the branches.

Anderson was already shimmying down the tree in frantic excitement. "_A. fragilis_, you idiots. An actual _A. fragilis_."

"In English, Anderson!"

"It's an Allosaurus, bitches!"

Lestrade stared after the running sergeant and shrugged. "Well, that's just lovely. Looks like he's off to get himself eaten now."

"Oh _yes_!" exclaimed Sherlock, "Front row seats!"

Just then, an enormous crash revealed said Allosaurus, a bit smaller but just as fierce as its cousin, the Tyrannosaurus Rex. None of this occurred to Anderson, however, who continued skipping toward the giant reptile, a sharp wind blowing through his hair, the sun beaming on his upturned face…

The dinosaur's mouth inches from snapping hold of his head.

"It's like…a dream come true," Sherlock whispered, his pale eyes sparkling. "I would have never thought I'd get to watch Anderson being swallowed by an large extinct reptilian."

"RUN, ANDERSON, RUNNNN!" John bellowed from above, managing to free one arm to wave it frantically at the distant figure.

Sherlock threw him a reproachful look. "Knock that off, John! And if you so much as try to do your little doctor thing and piece Anderson back together, so help me, I will-"

"Will what?" came a familiar croaking voice.

Sherlock blinked once before suddenly bursting out, "Anderson! Why the hell are you riding on the back of that dinosaur? Why didn't it, for all purposes of rightful nature, _eat_ you?"

Anderson stroked the Allosaurus' spiked neck and looked back up with a smug smile. "Because I'm the Dinosaur Whisperer."

Detective Inspector Lestrade choked on his sudden burst of laughter. "That's bullshit, Anderson."

Anderson's self-satisfied smile only widened as he raised his hand and snapped his fingers once.

The theropod immediately reared up and gnashed its teeth inches from Lestrade's nose, a growl rumbling deep within its throat. Lestrade fell backward in utter shock, but was caught by the coattails by Sherlock.

"Up! Up! Pull me up, dammit," the detective inspector snapped, dangling about like a cat toy tied to a bit of string.

Sherlock himself was beginning to slip. "John! Get your frozen butt down here and help!"

John continued staring at the large carnivorous beast below him. "Um. God, no."

Sherlock turned a fiery glare upon the sergeant. "You'll pay for this, Anderson!"

Anderson laughed a sort of frog-like laugh. "I think not, little detective. But thank you for your input."

Sherlock gritted his teeth. Oh, Anderson would get it now. No one quoted Sherlock Holmes and threw his quotations back in his face and got away with it.


	2. Chapter 2

"Lestrade, stop chewing on the tree. It's disgusting."

"Shurrf ufff Shherrloofff."

John inched down the trunk and swung down onto the branch. "He's trying to crawl up, Sherlock. No thanks to you."

"That's not true. I've got his coattails."

"He's just hanging there!"

"I told him to stop bouncing on my branch. I really should just drop him, the blighter."

Suddenly, a fateful crack split the air, and the tree branch, after a moment of consideration upon the matter, fatefully broke asunder.

Sherlock and the Scotland Yard inspector hit the ground with a collective "Ooomph!" and waited, dazed, to heard the affirmation of a third party smacking the ground. But none came.

This resulted largely from the fact that John was, in fact, still in the damn tree. He bobbed about, hanging by a snag in his jumper, his eyes huge with shock and utter terror.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! I'm still in the damn tree!" he squeaked.

"Your observation skills are positively dazzling, John," Sherlock called back up. "I could never for the world have come to such a solution. I applaud you."

"Shut up, Sherlock, and get me down!"

Lestrade had by now dragged himself to his feet and assessed the situation. A moment later he emerged from deep thought. "We could continually throw sticks at him until he fell," he concluded.

Sherlock brightened. "And knock him down? As if he were an icicle?"

"Yes. Works wonders, I hear."

"Hmm. I see the possibilities, Lestrade. Though I believe we would do better to find a few logs instead of sticks."

Lestrade nodded, thoughtful. "Yes, yes. The velocity rate would be much higher-"

"-But we must divide it by the factor of how much extra strength it would take to heft a much larger quantity of wood into the air," Sherlock interrupted.

"Yes, but if the weight of the log canceled out that excess solution, we would know, in fact, that—dammit, John's gone."

Sherlock whirled around. "What?"

It was true. All that was left of the bejumpered fellow was a few fibers of white wool that clung obstinately to the tree branch and waved mockingly back at them in the wind.

The young detective mused. "Hmm. Check the ground. John may have fallen and we did not hear. His jumper may have padded the sound." But the ground proved even less helpful, with no signs of the doctor whatsoever.

"Well, there is but one conclusion we can draw from the situation," Sherlock sighed.

Lestrade nodded. "He was eaten by a dinosaur."

"No."

"He managed to crawl down the tree trunk."

"No."

"He fell down, but is off wandering somewhere else in the vicinity."

"NO."

Lestrade gave an exasperated sigh. "What is it then, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes bugged. "Obviously, John has disappeared into thin air."

The inspector looked around for a solid surface to bang his head upon.

Suddenly, a distant voice broke the awkward silence. "Sherlock! Sherlockkkkkkkkkkkk!"

The detective gasped. "Listen, Lestrade! Even now you can hear John's disembodied voice upon the wind!"

"SHERLOCKKKKKKKK!"

"JOHN!" Sherlock called back, his gloved hands cupped on either side of his mouth. "I'm sorry for all this! If only I had listened, if only I had watched out for you! John, just know that I will never, EVER, forget you!"

"Sherlock, dammit, I'm over here!"

Just then, the detective and the inspector noticed a rather large carnivorous dinosaur tramping toward them. A bundle hung from its mouth, and upon close scrutiny, they saw that it was indeed John, swinging about from the bit of jumper the reptile had clamped in its teeth.

"John! You're alive!" Sherlock screamed joyously, flailing his arms about.

"But not for long," Lestrade shouted, a bit less joyously.

"Arghhhhh," John added, emphatically.

A thought suddenly struck the detective. "This is the diabolical work of Anderson," Sherlock growled, punching a fist into the palm of his other hand. "He will pay for the miniature heart attack I just suffered."


End file.
